Sure, there are some perks to almost dying, like having Ellie waiting on me hand and foot. But still…it sucks.
The last two months have been a series of surgeries, physical therapy appointments, and resting. Goddamn resting. If I have to listen to my brothers scream at me to sit my ass down and let them handle things one more time, I’ll go insane.
I think the worst of it all is the fact that, legally, I’m dead.
Just like Ryker.
We decided unanimously that the best course of action was faking my death and taking another pawn off the board. Then, when The Divine One isn’t looking, we’ll surround her. The queen may not be the most important piece on a chessboard, but she is in this game.
Taking her out won’t obliterate the entire organization, though. No, that will have to be done with…finesse. Planning. Scheming.
The Paragons of Prosperity will fall, and when it does, I’ll throw an “I’m alive” party in the ashes of their remains.
A knot tightens in my throat.
God, I didn’t even witness my funeral, but I know it was brutal. Ellie arrived back here in tears, and my brothers were in an incredibly foul mood for weeks after.
I’ve never been overly close to my parents. They’re both successful politicians who are away more often than not, leaving me alone with an endless supply of nannies.
But, according to Dom, they…cried. A lot. My mother sobbed and told the entire room of grievers that she fucked up. That she didn’t care for me the way she should have. My father remained silent, solemn, but Dom claimed a single tear fell from the corner of his eye as he stared blindly ahead.
Though I know why we had to do it, why it was crucial we faked my death, pain still rakes its claws down my spine.
How much more of this can any of us take? Two of us are “dead,” and everyone else is desperate to pick up the pieces, to arrange them into something that is semi-coherent and tangible.
Beckett was able to unlock the phone of the asshole who attacked us the night everything went to shit. We were right in our initial assessment—he was a guard who managed to catch a glimpse of one of us without our mask (probably Zane, who claimed the mask made it hard for him to breathe), then followed us here with the intent to kill us. Shortly before he could implement his plan, he received a notification from a high-profile POP member with information about Ellie, including her school photo, date of birth, and other important information. Apparently, The Divine One notified all of her staff about Ellie’s sale and promised a hefty payout if Ellie was found and deliveredto whomever bought her. Fortunately, it appeared as if the prick was acting rogue—there was no indication whatsoever that he’d contacted anyone about our location—so we should be safe where we are for now. And since no other assholes have arrived, hoping for a payout…
Maybe The Divine One has finally given up. Raymond seems to believe the bitch has been toying with us this entire time and never had any intention of actually selling Ellie.
I digress.
Someone out there believes they’re owed my girl, and I imagine they won’t be satisfied until POP delivers what they promised.
School has come and gone. Ellie, Dom, Beckett, and Zane all got their diploma, though they skipped out on the graduation ceremony. None of them have been back at the academy since we first discovered Ellie was listed for sale on the black market.
Our professors thought the four of them were grieving, so they gave them online coursework to complete in order to graduate. And since I had nothing better to do, I did it all for them.
Easy peasy.
I suppose you can say I graduated four times over.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Ellie’s curt voice—rife with worry—brings a tentative smile to my lips.
I freeze where I’m standing, one hand flush against the wall for support, and wait for her to catch up.
Morning sunlight gilds one side of her face, creating golden highlights in her brown hair. She looks fucking gorgeous.
She looks like…mine.
I don’t bother to tamp down the explosive, possessive reaction I have at seeing her.
She pauses when she reaches me, her hands balling into fists by her sides, and I know she’s quelling the urge to touch me.Caress me. Assure herself that I’m okay. I want to tell her that she’s allowed to touch me, that I relish the feel of her fingers caressing my skin, but I can’t push her too far.
There are shadows in her eyes, demons that can’t be vanquished back to hell, no matter how hard we all try. They’ve been there for years but have only become more prominent with time. Watching me get stabbed…it broke something in her.
The first few weeks after the incident, I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault. However, my words did very little to assuage the guilt swarming in her gray-blue eyes. If anything, it only seemed to exacerbate it, like just hearing about my injury sent her spiraling into a pitch-black abyss.
“You shouldn’t be walking around,” Ellie insists. Her brows bank together, forming a knot. “Come on, Landon. Let me walk you back to bed.”